


two slow dancers

by panpanya



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 11:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panpanya/pseuds/panpanya
Summary: The scent of the sea, and Otabek's cologne.





	two slow dancers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pallidvixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallidvixen/gifts).

> Hello! It's been a while since I last wrote a yoi fic, much less otayuri ^w^ I wrote this for the Fandom for Siken event!!!

The wind dances around him. Gentle, cool breeze blows his hair into a golden mess, his shirt into a wrinkly disarray, and his lips into a smile. The wind would have been softer had he been stationary, but right now, sitting on Otabek’s speeding motorbike, arms circled securely around his hips, it feels as if there is nothing, nothing in this world for Yuri but the powerful summer zephyr.

He brings his head up and looks above at the sky. It’s clear and cloudless, painted by baby blue, and the sun, mild and yellow, hangs wordlessly up there, becoming the only witness of their ride. The road is empty and quiet, save for the noise of the motorbike, but otherwise, no one is there to observe their trip. Except for each other. And the sun.

It’s a mystery, how they end up on a road trip by the coastline, where the air smells like fresh sea and sometimes a hint of oranges from the frequently appearing tangerine sellers along the way. The way here has been a little tough; they were caught in traffic a few times, where Yuri has no choice but to gaze at the polluted, thinly-smoked sky and insurance billboards. But as soon as they got closer to the ocean, suddenly the journey is deemed worthy.

They had seen each other, and one way and the other, they packed their bags and went off. It’s a sunny day; not too sunny, but the sunshine is warm today, shining in harmony with the chirp of birds and, yes, the blowing Southern winds.

Otabek stops in the sandy parking lot of a shack-style grill bar, a seafood restaurant, neat and dandy, overlooking the sea from distance, its watery blue visible, albeit barricaded by fences and bushes. They mount from the motorbike, hand-in-hand, and pick a seat on where they can get the best view of the sea.

They order a basket of potato wedges, declining the waiter’s suggestion for clam chowder and deep-fried fish fingers with lemon sauce. While they wait, they are served complimentary glasses of orange juice; bought from one of the street stalls and freshly squeezed with no added sugar, the waiter also mentions.

As the waiter leaves, they begin to talk. “It’s a pretty day,” Otabek mentions the obvious. He’s most definitely not only talking about the day, because he’s also gazing at the sea, roaring with waves, and at Yuri himself, hands folded on the table, smiling almost by reflex when Otabek said that.

“Isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“The sea. I can’t wait to be there,” Yuri tells him. “I can hear it. It’s strangely soothing.”

Otabek wipes his hands with a napkin. He replies, “what do you want to do there?”

“Just walk around. Maybe collect a few seashells, too. Where do you want to stay?”

“There is surely a cheap motel around here. Don’t worry about that one. Things can be settled. For now,” he looks at Yuri, then touches the back of his hand lightly. “Let’s not think.”

“Mhm, let’s not.”

Their potatoes arrive a few minutes later, some still wet with oil, while some are dry as stone. Neither complains, though. They eat them while chatting idly, talking about everything, and yet nothing at all at the same time; just things to ask and answer to spend time.

Otabek doesn’t eat much. Yuri finishes the whole basket, including the small shards. The taste of orange juice is a little strange after eating the salty wedges. Yuri voices it out, “tastes weird. Salty but sweet, somehow sour. Really weird.”

“Drink more. It’ll go away soon if you drink more.”

Yuri downs his entire glass, and soon the sweet taste of orange stays in his tongue, completely overthrowing the previous unpleasant tang. They leave their money on the table, puts a few coins into the tip jar, and leaves.

The sea is, of course, not so far away. They arrive within five minutes, and as soon as they are there, the sound of rolling waves clash with the wailing seagulls, the friction of the two sounds creating the true sense of the ocean. The scent is familiar. The sea. The sea, and Otabek’s cologne, both smell like distant nostalgia – mingling together into a memorable waft.

“What are you thinking about?” Yuri asks. It’s sudden. So sudden, that even Otabek glances at him, confused.

“I think you are the one who knows best,” he answers. Cryptic and strange, but Yuri finds it satisfying. Because he knows, in an instant, that Otabek is thinking about him. Maybe the sea too, but him, above all.

The sky is an endless blue, an enchanting spread of cyan, peppered with whitewashed clouds and decorated by the solo sun. Yuri cranes his neck a little, but his view comes back again to the sea, and then, to Otabek.

And Otabek is looking at him, too. Once they lock eyes, he says, “do you want to dance?”

“Dance? Right here?”

A dance at the beach, feet over the fine sand, no one to disturb but the engulf of the wind around them, and the sunshine, and the gulls and the waves. Doesn’t sound so bad, Yuri thinks. His response is affirmative but silent; he simply positions themselves into an appropriate waltzing stance.

“Yeah.”

Being the exceptional figure skaters they are, dancing isn’t a big deal, it’s easy and effortless. Yuri maintains a smile the whole time, and Otabek tries to reciprocate, but he seems to be focused on his own footwork rather than expression. Still, every now and then, the corners of his lips would twitch, indicating that he, too, is enjoying this.

“Otabek,” Yuri voices out after Otabek spins him. Otabek looks at him, eyes curious, wanting him to continue – but in reality, Yuri can’t. He speaks out that name simply for the sake of it, simply because it tastes sweet on his tongue. Unable to do anything, he stops his steps.

Otabek is perhaps alarmed, but he remains collected. Then, he tucks his finger under Yuri’s chin, tugging up so that their eyes align, and, in an instant, Yuri knows what’s coming.

The kiss is gentle, as gentle as the breezes, and slow, as slow as the rhythm of time right now. “Yuri.”

And Yuri smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi to me on Twitter [icryoverships](https://twitter.com/Icryoverships)


End file.
